


Simple Pleasures

by the_one_that_fell



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, First Meetings, M/M, MeetCute, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12037230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: Jack doesn't expect much more from this hospital visit than crappy coffee and a sleeping grandfather. Then he meets a restless young man who just wants tobake.





	Simple Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Bitty's hospitalization is based on both of mine from the past few months, namely the first one where they had no idea what was going on. (Spoiler, it was Crohn's.)
> 
> CW: hospitals, IVs, medication, minor talk of health issues (Crohn’s, pneumonia, infections). No death or super serious/life-threatening health issues.

Jack wasn’t close to his maternal grandfather, but that didn’t stop him from visiting him in the hospital every day.

Though Grandpa Lou wasn’t on death’s doorstep, he wasn’t well and it was summer, so what else was he going to do with his time?

Unfortunately, all Grandpa seemed to do when he visited was sleep. Jack supposed there wasn’t much else to do in a hospital. So when Grandpa dozed off, Jack would often grab a cup of shitty coffee from the waiting room and wander the halls, staring at the generic art on the walls and wonder if he would be a bad grandson if he just went home.

About a week after Grandpa was admitted, Jack found himself wandering the halls yet again, smiling politely at the nurses as he passed by their station. His tongue felt rough and dry from where he’d burnt it on his coffee, and he was just about to resign himself to sitting in Grandpa’s room and browsing random Wikipedia articles on his phone when a bright voice cried out.

“Please, Amanda,  _please_. It’s Wednesday, I always have a video up on Wednesdays. I  _need_  to bake something!”

A young man dressed in a hospital gown and gray sweatpants stood near the kitchenette where nurses kept their stores of Jell-O and broth. Though his pallor was sickly, he had large, warm eyes that tugged at something in Jack’s gut. A nurse stood next to the man, hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry, Eric,” she said, kind but stern. “One, there’s nothing in here but a fridge, a kettle, and a microwave, so you’d have a hell of a time  _baking_  and two, you really shouldn’t be walking around without an aid just yet. You’re not a fall risk, but you were only admitted yesterday. Let me take you back to your room.”

The man – Eric – pouted. “But it’s boring in there. And my legs were cramping.”

Nurse Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Because you unhooked your leg compressors.”

Eric didn’t waver. “Because they sound like Darth Vader breathing. I couldn’t sleep!”

“C’mon, Eric,” she said, sounding tired. “You need to rest.”

“But my legs,” Eric said, voice pitching close to a whine. By that point, Jack was nearing uncomfortably close to them, and while he wanted to hear more of Eric’s honey-sweet southern twang, it would soon be obvious he was eavesdropping. So, instead of just walking away and thinking about brown eyes and handsome boys for the rest of the day, he stopped and turned to them.

“I can walk with him- with you,” Jack said, first addressing Amanda, then Eric. “If he- you need someone to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Eric said, not unkindly. At Amanda’s glance, he conceded, “But it might be a good idea, in case I pass out. Thank you.”

Amanda smiled at him; she’d been attending to Grandpa for the past two days, and they’d chatted every time she stopped by to take vitals and administer medication. “Alright, but not too long. Your magnesium levels are still low. When’s your next window for Norco?”

“In an hour,” Eric said quickly. “And I will need that as soon as possible, thank you, ma’am. It’s all hurting pretty bad right now.”

“Okay, I’ll try to get that for you as soon as I can,” Amanda said as her radio crackled. A garbled voice came through, and though Jack couldn’t understand a word, Amanda seemed to take directives from whatever was said. “One more lap, then back to bed,” she said, pointing at Eric.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said easily, grinning as she left. “I’m Eric, by the way,” he said, holding out a shaky hand. Jack shook it, marvelling at how calloused Eric’s fingers were.

“Jack,” he said.

“Jack,” Eric repeated, as if testing the taste of it on his tongue. “What’s a healthy-looking gentleman like yourself doing here? Surely you didn’t come for the amazing coffee,” he teased, nodding at Jack’s cup. His IV machine clicked loudly as it dispensed saline, and the wheels squeaked a little as he rolled it slowly and clumsily down the hall.

“My grandpa is sick; we think it’s pneumonia.” He shrugged. “It’s not life-threatening, they don’t think, but I live close by and it’d be irresponsible not to come by and meet with the doctors every day.” Jack paused, looking down at Eric. “No one ever tells you how boring hospitals are, though.” 

Eric laughed, the grunted in pain. “Ain’t that the truth. I haven’t been here 24 hours and I’m bored senseless. I guess that’s a step up from the utter agony I was in last night, but it’d be easier if I could just  _bake_  something. Surely some of the people on this floor could eat pie if I made it. I just need a kitchen…”

“You’re a baker?” Jack asked, taking ahold of Eric’s IV pole to help him better navigate.

Eric smiled at him gratefully. “Yeah. I run a YouTube channel, baking tips and whatnot. And I need to get a video up to my viewers, but I don’t want to disappoint them with some lame two-minute spiel from a hospital bed on why there’s no recipe this week.”

This startled a laugh out of Jack. “You know, you won’t heal if you overexert yourself like this,” he said, helping Eric turned the IV pole around as they hit a dead end. “Do you know what you’re in here for?”

“No,” Eric said glumly. “The E.R. doc said she thought it was Crohn’s, but the Internist thinks it might be an infection. Either way, I can’t digest food anymore and it feels like there’s a huge knife shoved into my abdomen, which is  _not_  ideal for someone who creates recipes for a living.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, unsure of how else to react. “That…sucks.”

Eric snorted, elbowing Jack in the ribs. “That’s an understatement. Ugh-” He stopped suddenly, clutching at his gut. “Ow _-ow-ow-ow-_ Yeah, Amanda was right. Can you help me back to my room?”

This was how Jack ended up walking between the IV and Eric, holding the pole in one hand and Eric’s hand in the other. They moved slowly and carefully down the hallway as to not jostle Eric too harshly, and eventually they made it to a small room. Jack helped Eric lie back against his pillows, face drained of what little color it had.

“Thanks,” he muttered, frowning deeply. “Once I get my Norco I’ll be able to sleep, I think. Ugh, I hate this. I hate all of this.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said again. “Can I…can I get you anything?”

Eric gave him a small, rueful smile. “An oven?”

Jack laughed and patted the man’s shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do. How about some ice chips?”

Eric nodded excitedly, and Jack left in search of the ice machine. By the time he got back, Eric was fast asleep. He left the cup on the rolling table by the bed and snuck away, a plan hatching in the back of his mind.

* * *

 

Jack arrived at the hospital the next day to a healthier-looking grandfather and an incredibly grumpy Eric. He told Jack that his mother was on her way to Boston, but all his friends were out of town for the summer and things were getting lonely in the hospital.

“Would it help if you could bake?” Jack asked, reaching down for the large bag he’d brought with him.

Eric shrugged and readjusted the blankets piled on top of him. “Yeah, probably. I always bake when I feel bad. It never fails to make me happy.”

Biting back a grin, Jack pulled the poorly-wrapped box from the bag and set it on Eric’s lap. Stunned, Eric stared at it for a moment before tearing off the paper with the frenzy of a child on Christmas. When he saw the label on the box, he howled with laughter, weakly slapping at his knee.

“An  _Easy Bake Oven_?” Eric practically shouted. “Jack, this is too much.  _You’re_  too much!”

Jack wasn’t really sure what he meant by that, so he asked, “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Eric held a hand over his heart. “I  _love_  it. Oh, you have to help me set it up! This is gonna be the best video ever, thank you!”

Jack felt himself grinning wider than he had in a long, long time. His cheeks ached with it, but nothing could compare to the ache in his heart as his eyes skimmed over the dimples in Eric’s cheeks, the light dancing in his eyes.

“You know, you’ll have to eat everything I make,” Eric said, pulling Jack from his thoughts. “I’m not allowed to eat or drink  _anything_  yet.”

“Well, of course,” Jack said. “You’re the baker. I’m the taster. I eat a  _lot_ ,” he added, feeling a bit silly. But the kindness in Eric’s smile made him feel bold, open about himself in a way he rarely could be.

“Oh, well,” Eric said, cheeks turning a pretty, healthy shade of pink. “Then you and I? We’re gonna get along  _real_  well.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr [here.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/165104730227/zimbits-hospital-meetcute-au)
> 
> My online novel, The Discourt Knife, can be found [ here.](http://thediscourtknife.com)


End file.
